


they don't see the real me (all they see is scars)

by thetimeisnow



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Depression, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trigger warning:, because ian is always there, dealing with death, fuck it hurt to write this, it'll be okay, main characters death, mickey tries and tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimeisnow/pseuds/thetimeisnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous: sorry to break the mood here, but I want a fic where ian takes his own life and mickey trying to cope with it but when he fails and is on the edge of committing suicide, he “sees” ian. Either they jump together or “ian” convinces him not to jump. really want this im in the mood for tears. thank you.<br/>| gallavich - shameless |<br/>TRIGGERWARNING</p>
            </blockquote>





	they don't see the real me (all they see is scars)

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for suicide, suicide attempt and depression.  
> please please please don't read if you know this affects you.  
> take care.

**Anonymous: sorry to break the mood here, but I want a fic where ian takes his own life and mickey trying to cope with it but when he fails and is on the edge of committing suicide, he “sees” ian. Either they jump together or “ian” convinces him not to.**

 

* * *

 

Ian died suddenly.

There was no warning, no knowing Mickey’s last words to the boy he loved would be out of anger, there was no one there to tell him what would happen.

It was a Tuesday morning they found his body, three days after Ian and Mickey had been ripping on each other’s throat about something as stupid as how Mickey wanted Ian to quit his job.

Mickey knew about how Ian was bipolar, he’d even been diagnosed, but he thought it was okay anyway, he didn’t wanna treat Ian like some bitch just because he was sick, he wanted it to be normal, he wanted them to be normal, and his pills were supposed to work.

They were supposed to fucking work!

Ian hadn’t taken his pills for a few days.

Ian’s pills didn’t work.

They say it wasn’t because of Mickey, they tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he had nothing to do with it, they told him to open his eyes to the possibilities of what could have gone through his mind. Ian was sick, they said, he didn’t know what to think, he thought way bigger than you having an argument with him, that it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, that Ian loved him too much to do that.

Mickey knew they lied. He hadn’t even told them his last words to Ian yet.

But they were right about one thing, Ian was sick, and Mickey had been ignoring it like a fucking idiot, like the big fucking idiot he was. He thought they could have a normal relationship, that he didn’t have to be all sweet around Ian, just like old times, but he was wrong.

Being sweet was what Ian needed.

Mickey weren’t good with words and had never been, especially nothing _sweet_ , but if he knew it could save his life, Mickey would have had a five hour speech about what he loved about Ian. He could have talked forever.

But it was too late now.

Ian died suddenly, and they found his body three days later.

It was three days of pain, three days of pain that would rate a nine of ten, pain that Mickey tried to ignore. He tried so hard to put up with himself, to put up with people who talked to him, to put up with life. He knew what he had done, and he knew Ian was sick.

But still he told him _get the fuck out here, and don’t come back until you made up your fucking mind!_

He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean for Ian to fucking die.

He got the call early on a Tuesday, and he reached for the phone with sweaty hands, preparing himself to not sound too relieved when they told him they’re found him.

“They found his body.”

It was Debbie on the phone. Not Fiona, not Lip, not even Mandy. It was Debbie, the Gallagher he least expected to get the call from.

“What do you mean his body?” Mickey asked, sitting up on the bed, his legs were shaking and he had to bit his lip hard to maintain quiet as Debbie breathed out a shaky breath.

Mickey didn’t have to hear it. He understood. “Where did they take him?” he asked before Debbie had the chance to answer, and the silence from the other end made Mickey mad. “Fucking answer me, where the hell is he?”

“Hospital”, Debbie choked out, “Mickey…”

Whatever Debbie had to say Mickey didn’t stay to find out, he threw the phone into the wall. It was a loud bang in the silence.

He felt like he’d been shot right in the chest.

The hospital was suddenly way more dark than any other time he’d been there, and he’d been there a lot of times before. He had to push his way through Fiona, push aside Lip and throw Carl out of the way to get to the ice cold bed.

Mickey saw how Ian’s family spoke to him, but he shut them out, he couldn’t listen, not when Ian’s beautiful face was lying in front of him, his body looked thinner, his skin was pale, and his eyes were closed. His wrists were covered by two small towels wrapped around his arms, but Mickey knew.

Lip touched his shoulder, but Mickey didn’t care. He didn’t react. All he could see was Ian. His Ian.

“Mickey, you should go from some air.”

For some reason, Debbie’s voice got through his walls, and he snapped his head back, not realizing his fists were closed tight, and how one single tear was running down his cheek, too slowly.

One single tear was all he got.

Mickey shook his head to protest, but didn’t stop the young girl as she grabbed his hand lightly, and led him out of the room.

He was invited to the funeral. He did attend, but he didn’t speak to anyone, he stood in the corner the entire time, staring in front of himself like a ghost.

Ian.

_His_ Ian.

His family cried, all of them. Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl and Veronica and Kevin. Most surprisingly was Frank. He was there, he was holding his children close, his eyes were read and Mickey knew it wasn’t because of drugs this time, it was because of grief.

Mickey didn’t cry. He wanted to, but nothing came out.

He knew it was his fault, and nothing hurt more than that. His sight was blurry, he couldn’t really understand what has happening, and every time he opened the door to his lonely room, the scent of Ian hit him like a train, and he expected to see his smiling face sitting on the bed, getting up to give him a quick kiss.

Ian was buried in the ground, his wrists still covered, it was Fiona’s request. They asked if Mickey wanted something special out of it. First, he said no, but he sneaked in later to plant one of two copies of the only picture there was of them together. Ian had his arms wrapped around his waist, and he was grinning. Mickey was looking at him, he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes told enough. His eyes were _so very warm and lovely_ , as Mandy had described them.

Then he pressed his lips against his cold forehead, his fingers running through his hair for the last time, before he turned around and left without looking back.

His Ian.

“You want dinner?”

Mickey shook his head.

“A beer?”

He shook his head again.

“A cigarette?”

Mickey didn’t want shit Mandy gave to him, and that she told her. Mandy screamed some shit about him not being the only one who was sad. She didn’t know.

She didn’t know what Mickey told him, so he told her.

And she left the house. She left him alone.

It was his fault Ian wasn’t here anymore. It was his fault, and no one could change his mind. He fucked up all the time, and he knew sometime it would end bad, but he never imagined he would ever tell himself that now, now all I’m feeling is emptiness, now all I’m feeling is a ten out of ten on the fucking scale the fucking doctor told him to rate how he was feeling. The fucking doctor didn’t know shit, he didn’t give a shit about either Mickey or Ian, it was obvious, he just did his job and got his money and got back to his perfect life.

Mickey thought about Ian’s face most of all. How he looked when he was smiling, how he looked when he softly pressed their lips together, whispering _I want to grow old with you_ , which Mickey told him was bullshit, and which Mickey told him was stupid, but he wished he hadn’t. He wished he had just smiled and said _so do I._

He wished he hadn’t pushed back so many times, he wished he’d just opened up. He wished he had told Ian everything, he wished he’d told him how much he loved him.

Because Mickey did.

He never said it, he never told Ian _I love you_.

And now he would never have the chance to do it again.

Mickey knew he couldn’t live like this, he knew his life had gone from being fucking badly, to being over what he deserved, to fall to nothing.

Mickey blinked down the train rail. If he just took another step. Just one more.

Less than two, more than zero.

He knew it was his fault Ian decided to do it. He dreamt about Ian’s face when he slit his wrists open, he dreamt about how it all looked, he dreamt about the words Ian might have screamed.

A light touch on his left shoulder and Mickey almost fell.

He stumbled backwards, gasping for air he could breathe again for the first time ever.

“Ian?”

He was just as tall as Mickey remembered him, his hair was just as orange, his eyes just as deep, and he was just as beautiful as the day he disappeared.

“Mickey.” His name was being whispered in a voice so small and so weak Mickey wasn’t sure he really heard it.

“Why?” he managed to choke out, his legs failing him and he slowly sunk down on the hill he was standing on. “You can’t- Ian, Ian, jesus fuck, Ian-“

Ian was holding him, wrapping his pale arms around his body, holding him tight. Mickey pressed his face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of home, the scent of Ian. Ian was rubbing his thumb in circles over his back, whispering small words Mickey didn’t catch, but he didn’t care. Ian was here.

His Ian.

“I’m sorry-“ Mickey sobbed, “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t say that”, Ian said softly, “where’s the tough attitude you had, Mick?”

Mickey pressed his face closer to Ian’s shoulder, barely letting any air in.

“Get over yourself, Mickey”, Ian laughed, but his laugh was filled with the same sadness Mickey felt.

“It’s my fault”, Mickey murmured, gripping on tightly to Ian’s shirt, not letting go.

“It’s not your fault, idiot”, Ian answered, his voice louder now, a bit surprised, “why would you even think that?”

“The things I said-“ Mickey tried.

“You always said those”, Ian tried to comfort him, “I knew you didn’t mean them, Mick. It was my own fault, I didn’t take the pills, I overreacted, and everything just came crashing down, it wasn’t because of you, I would never do it because of you.”

Mickey just shook his head. “I triggered it all.”

“You kept me going”, Ian said, moving back a bit, catching Mickey’s face in his hands in a soft grip, “and that was a good thing. You kept me alive all this time, and I tried to hang onto you in my last moments, Mickey, don’t you ever forget that. You kept me alive all this time.”

Mickey didn’t have an answer, he just stared at the man in front of him. He was as pale as he was at the hospital, his wrists still covered by whatever it was and his eyes were empty but still so deep. Mickey wanted to answer, to say something, to make Ian stay, but he didn't get out a sound, his throat was too dry.

“What were you even doing here-  _oh_.” Ian stared down the train rails beneath them, and when he looked over at Mickey again, his eyes were filled with pain, “no, no, no, Mickey, you can’t ever do that. Promise me you’ll never do that!”

Ian was screaming and Mickey wanted to cover his ears, he didn't wanna hear it, but Ian’s grip were too tight around his wrists.

“Promise me, Mickey, promise me!”

“I- I promise”, Mickey choked out under his breath, “I can’t-“

“You can! Look at me.”

Mickey did.

“You can live without me, I know you can. You’re strong, you’re tough, and you give no fucks at all about what others think. You’re special, Mick, and I believe in you.”

“Come back”, Mickey whispered, his voice low and broken, “please.”

“I’m not gone”, Ian smiled sadly, “I’ll never leave you. I’m not gone, you just can’t see me, I’ll be there every second of the day, whenever you need me I will be there.”

Mickey nodded. “Okay.”

“Mickey, you don’t understand how special you are. You matter to so many people, you can’t leave them alone, not ever. They love you. I love you.”

Mickey nodded again, and let out a sound of pain when Ian let go of his body, “I need to go now. I’ll be at your side again when you get home, and every second you’ll ever need me.”

“You fucking better”, Mickey coughed out and tried to smile at him.

“That’s the Mickey I know”, Ian grinned at him, “I’ll see you.”

But just when he turned away, turning his back at Mickey, his body fading, Mickey let out his hand. “Ian?”

The young man turned his head around. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

Ian’s smile grew bigger. “I know”, he said, and then he was gone.

Mickey’s Ian was gone.

He stumbled through his door two hours later, and was met by the sight of three police officers, and Mandy, her eyes read and her makeup was completely destroyed, and in her left hand, she held the note Mickey left on the table so tight it was about to fall apart.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

“Mickey”, she sobbed, and fell down on the floor, hiding her face in her hand. Mickey fell down next to her, holding her as tight as Ian had hold him.

Mickey cried with her.

But he knew they could make it through this, because Ian believed in them.

He believed in Mickey.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry for writing this  
> my tumblr is @catoledid if you wanna send me some promts  
> i need something fluffy to better my mood  
> holy shit this was depressing to write  
> -  
> also, this is how i find depression. i find it empty and i find it silent. i wrote it from my own perspective, how i found myself losing someone i loved, so bare with me.


End file.
